


Laughter

by Vocachuuu



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Spoilers for basically every chapter except 6, i only tagged major character death and violence because. well. u know. chapter 5, if u squint MAYBE u will see hints of saiouma, its spelled ouma not oma, no mastermind spoilers, other characters are mentioned but briefly, this was originally gonna be saiouma so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 03:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12975090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vocachuuu/pseuds/Vocachuuu
Summary: Laughter can cure any pain. Except death, of course.





	Laughter

Ouma laughed a lot.

When somebody called him out for lying, he laughed. Whether they were right or not, he didn’t care; Ouma would laugh and laugh, announcing _“yep, it’s a lie!”_ and laughing more when they believed him. It was funny, how they assumed everything _nice_ he said was false and all the _rude, despicable_ things were the truth.

Whatever, though. In the end, Ouma liked to pretend everything was a lie.

Amami died and Akamatsu killed him. Fingers were pointed at Ouma for a brief moment during the trial - he just laughed. _“Yeah, the Super High School Level Supreme Leader is a super suspicious talent!”_ he’d say, but the fingers were soon pointed elsewhere. _How boring,_ he thought. Hopefully not every trial will be just pointing fingers at different people for no logical reason.

. . .

Motivation videos were handed out. Ouma eyed his for only a second before turning it on. The screen lit up, and he saw himself. He scoffed and started the video.

When the familiar image came on screen, he didn’t give any animate reaction; all Ouma did was raise his eyebrows at it questioningly. _What a waste of time,_ he thought, listening to the headache-inducing drone of Monokuma’s voice.

The image flashed to a new photo, another of the people he loved - yet this time, all in pain. Familiar people crouched down, faces covered yet their suffering still so evident. Monokuma tittered, and the soft glow of the tablet vanished.

He locked up the video in his drawer, laid on his back, and laughed. Ouma laughed and laughed, and hoped the aching pain deep in his chest would just fucking _go away._

… Yet later, he found out all of that was probably fake, and he most likely didn’t have anybody who loved him. Pathetically, he laughed at himself, writing on his whiteboard in the silence of his room.

. . .

Ouma was, very briefly, accused of killing Yonaga. With open arms, he announced _“Yep! I’m Yonaga-chan’s murderer!”_ in a proud tone, laughing at the others. He laughed because they didn’t know anything, not a single thing about him, and they never would.

. . .

When he discovered Iruma’s selfish, selfish plans to kill him, his first reaction was to laugh. He laughed quietly within the cluttered mess that his room was becoming. After, he threw his dry erase marker at the wall, listening to it fall. He knew what to do, sure, he always knew what to do. But he didn’t want to do it, he _hated himself_ for even _considering_ it.

“I’m just as rotten as her,” he told himself, face scrunching up at the thought. Ouma stared at his white board with a dull expression, almost wishing he didn’t throw his marker (although it did get a bit of pent up anger out). Even though in previous trials he had lied about it… The title murderer really was disgusting, if it was the truth.

And that was exactly what everyone labelled him as. He cried, Ouma cried so hard before Gokuhara’s execution because he should die instead. Gokuhara didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to be used or be executed or anything. He was better than Ouma could ever be, and Ouma knew that.

But Gokuhara died regardless of what Ouma wanted, and the moment was over. Now, he thought, it was time for the real show to begin. Putting on the mask of a villain, he gave a loud, malicious laugh as he began his act.

Ouma tried to not let things affect him personally, but Saihara was really good at pushing all of the wrong buttons. When the detective actually stood up to Ouma, raising his voice and saying things like _“you’ll always be alone,”_ it was a rare situation where he just couldn’t react.

Later that night, though, in the loneliness of his room, he laughed. It was a quiet laugh, breathy and muffled against his pillow as he laid on his side. Ouma laughed because it was just so _goddamn funny,_ it was hilarious because Saihara had hit the bullseye. Ouma was alone and would always be alone; it was a sacrifice he had to make, a _choice_ he made, and it would never change for as long as he lived (which probably wouldn’t be that long).

Without thinking, his fist lunged forward into the pitch blackness in front of him. It connected with something big and heavy, and Ouma scrambled quickly to his knees.

The wax Amami statue dangled precariously, disturbed by the punch. Without thinking, Ouma wrapped his arms tight around the statue, burying his face into the false fabric of its shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Amami-chan,” Ouma cooed in a sickeningly apologetic voice. He laughed at himself - though it came out sounding more like a chortle.

. . .

Before he knew it, he was laid under a hydraulic press, moments away from being crushed into nothing. Momota’s jacket was warm against his back, yet not comforting in the least.

He tried to laugh, but it just came out choked and shaky, so pitiful, and he was disgusted to hear it. He took a few shallow breaths and shut his eyes tight.

“You ready?” Momota called from the control panel. He sounded hesitant, and his voice quivered slightly - which was understandable. He was about to become a murderer.

Ouma silently cleared his throat. “‘Course I am! Tell everyone I said bye, okay? I wouldn’t want them missing me or anything.” With that, he laughed one last time, and he felt his eyes burn with tears as he heard the control panel click on.

It was difficult to laugh, though, as the press came down and cool metal and blood was all that remained.


End file.
